


What A Curious Life We Have Found Here Tonight

by cuupid



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Bisexual Dick Grayson, Definitely not canon compliant, Family Bonding, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Reality TV Shenanigans, also idk shit about timelines so feel free to choose your own, cameos made by lucas and marisol from litg, dick has been single for like six? seven? months and is very thirsty im so sorry, i'll just say he's painfully oblivious and leave it at that, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-03-01 12:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18800836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuupid/pseuds/cuupid
Summary: 'Dear Mr Grayson—' His eyes skimmed the rest of the screen, catching on the words 'We are delighted to inform you that your application has been accepted and only then halting.'“Application?” he read aloud. Confusion etched into his brow, into his new frown.'—your application has been accepted. We at Dinner Date USA look forward to having you as the next contestant on our show.'“Application!” Dick groaned loudly.Everything clicked into place then, and he fell hard against the stack of rumpled pillows.*Dating should be easier for the oldest son of Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.But, between juggling Nightwing and family duties with staunchly denying his feelings for Wally West, it’s left little room for love or romance, and a lot of room for a certain young man to feel slightly too desperate to find it.





	1. Just Picture It

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea" by Neutral Milk Hotel
> 
> Dinner Date is a British reality dating show that I'm absolute trash for. It's premise is really easy to grasp, and I will explain it later on in the fic.
> 
> Enjoy! ♡

"Savanna," she had introduced herself, cosmetically sharpened canines poking through her warm smile and strong arms wrapping Dick in a tight hug. "Like the desert. But no H." She laughed, and it was as sharp as glass.

"Richard. Dick. Like the— Well—" he stumbled and laughed awkwardly. "Yeah. Dick. Dick is good."

He would have slapped his forehead if he wasn't afraid of looking like an even bigger fool. It was months, almost a full year if he really thought about it, since his last date. To say he was out of practice was an understatement.

Savanna joined in, their laughs running awkwardly together and her hand slapping Dick lightly on the arm and letting out another high-pitched ringer of a laugh.

Elven— that's how Dick realized he would describe her. Roughly so.   
From the copper-bronze hair falling to her knees and the flowers she had wound together atop her head, peach and beige to match her flowing dress, Savanna was elven.

She lead them to a table nestled in far corner of the outside deck. Her bag and coat lay already discarded over a spare chair, one of the pair of menus sitting open and paged through.

"Dick, right?" Savanna said, resting her clasped hands on the table. "What do you do for a living? I guess you're a cop, right, because my cousin says he knows you from work. So, the better question, I figure, at least to me, would be: Do you enjoy what you do for a living? Does it bring you happiness? Peace?" She cocked her head to the side, patiently waited.

The restaurant sat right on the ocean. Sunset framed the deck and sea-salt wafted on the gentle breeze.

And, as Savanna jumped into her next line of rapid-fire questioning before Dick could get a complete answer out, Dick felt a gentle grin spread across his face.

It was going to be a long night.

*

The manor's front door banged shut behind him.

"Good evening, Master Richard," Alfred greeted dryly, a sharp eyebrow raised to match his tone. "Do we have a reason for taking our frustrations out on the building? _Sir_?"

"Sorry, Alfred. Won't happen again," Dick said, sheepish, red colouring across the bridge of his nose.

"Of course it will not." Alfred hummed. He raked his eyes over Dick's face and, shaking his head slightly, he gestured vaguely over his own shoulder. "Master Damian and Miss Cassandra can be found in the main living room. I believe they will be of assistance to you in your... current state."

Cass would listen. _But_. Did Dick really want to talk about any of this in front of Damian— who would be largely unhelpful and abrupt? No. Not in the least.

Dick mumbled a short and mostly unintelligible thank you.

Drawing out a long groan, he slinked past Alfred and into a dim room lit by both flickering fire and the light of a muted documentary.

"None of that, sir," Alfred warned, voice distant and just reaching Dick down the length of the passage.

Cass sat, staring at a gazelle leaping across the screen, a small smile played on her lips as the lithe animal bound over a spring and escaped the clutches of a lioness.

Dick shuffled into the room, she tilted up her head to greet him. At the sight of him, the smile tightened, and a small furrow formed between her brows.

He drew out a long breath, in something almost a groan almost a gut-wrenching sigh.

It was a tad too dramatic, he knew. But, he was a former Robin after all; dramatic was in his nature.

If Jason were here, Dick would have already had one of the larger pillows thrown at his head. A "Get over yourself and talk" thrown at him before he could have let out another sigh.

Out of the corner of his eye Dick peeked the snatch of a dark head of hair, the quick roll of an eye. Then Damian ducked his head, once more out of sight, gone as if he hadn't been there in the first place.

It was a graceless action, the way Dick slumped over the arm of the sofa and landed his head in the seat of Cassandra's lap.

A huff of a laugh from her, an apt response. Cass patted the head of unruly black hair resting on her crossed legs. "Bad date?" she asked, running her fingers gently through his new tangles.

"No." Dick shook his head. "Good date. Great date. We're following each other on Instagram and picking strawberries on Sunday. I think I'm gonna meet her dogs."

"But?"

" _But_ that's it. She's sweet, and we get along like a— like a pair of bumblebees!" Dick exclaimed. Cass laughed at that; a distant groan came from behind the sofa. "There was nothing else. No spark!"

Cass nudged Dick's face up with the bend of her knuckles. "You're over-thinking it."

He brushed the hair out of his eyes. It was long enough now that Bruce would be exaggerated in hinting at a need for a trim, and that Alfred would outright demand for one.   
Long enough now that Wally would demand he be allowed to plait it, probably in a much too complicated style he had learnt from browsing YouTube instead of sleeping.

"I _am_ _not_ overthinking anything," Dick protested. Groaning, irritation hanging onto the ends of the sound, he dropped his head back in Cass's lap. Voice muffled, he concurred, "I don't think I am... Ugh... You're right. I probably am."

"You're always rushing. Always looking for love. Love, love, love. Give it time."

Flopping onto his back, he let out an easy laugh. "Of course _you_ can say that. You have Steph."

"And you have Wally," she replied, certain and not missing a beat.

With the tip of a steady index finger, Cass drew the word _stupid_ in wide loops across Dick's forehead.

"Hey." He chuckled, feeling her trace and retrace the word. "It's not. It's not like that."

A loud snort sounded out from behind the sofa. Derisive and saying soundlessly, less eloquently, exactly what the boy wanted to say with words.

Damian— a stray line of charcoal drawn into his cheek— popped up from where he had kept himself hidden. A set of fine creases gathered together his brow. He wore his mouth in a slim frown and his gaze bore into Dick's own.

"Is there something you want to say, Little D?" he questioned, with a gentle snap of his fingers.

Damian _always_ had something to say. The question was redundant.

"You really aren't seeing that speedster, Grayson?"

"Yep." He couldn't help but pop the _p_ at the end.

" _Really_."

"Do I detect," Dick paused, raising his finger in a further show of dramatics, "an air of curiosity? Of _worry_ , perhaps?"

Crossing his arms over the back of the sofa and resting his chin over them, Damian appraised Dick with a narrow-eyed stare.

Deceivingly adorable, Dick thought, giving Damian a smile in return.

"I detect an air of foolishness," Damian retorted. "You expect me to believe that you and Wally haven't been _hooking up_ —"

"Where did you learn that term?" he interjected, voice too sharp.

"Jason," Cass helpfully filled in, and then unhelpfully spiked bunches of Dick's hair into two separate directions.

He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "What else has he taught you two?"

"We're not _children._ We know _things,_ " Damian spat. Above him, Cass nodded. "Stop trying to change the topic. Do you really expect me to believe that you and Wally haven't been... _dating_... as if I'm not the son of the world's greatest detective."

Cass giggled to herself. Only shrugging when Dick looked to her for help.

At least it made her happy— the unfolding conversation— even if it was at Dick's own expense.

"I'm serious. Unfortunately." Dick sighed, finally giving in. "If Wally and I were actually seeing each other... Trust me, you'd _all_ know. Because we'd be absolutely sickening."

"Absolutely _more_ sickening," Damian muttered.

In big block letters— ones that Dick envisioned as about as bright and bold as letters could be— Cass spelt **_G-A-Y_** into Dick's skin.

Lightly flicking at her wrist, Dick let out a laugh.

" _So much more_ sickening." He stared up at the aging ceiling, the dazzling chandelier dancing just at the edge of his vision, and spread his hands out wide. "Just picture it: we would be together all the time, holding hands _everywhere—_ "

" _Eeugh_!" Damian stuck out his tongue, his face pinching into a tight knot of disgust.

Dick continued, as if he hadn't been disrupted, "—romantic team-ups, complimentary outfits at galas, finishing each other's sentences. Oh. And _kissing_!"

"Gross—!" Damian exclaimed.

He chucked a cushion at Dick's smugly grinning face, eyes so bright if he were in one of Damian's Saturday morning cartoons there would be stars shining from them. Dick caught it and, quickly, Damian ducked behind the sofa before the cushion could find its way back to him.

"I disapprove of you and that speedster, Grayson," Cass mimicked Damian, loud and overly exaggerated. " _Deeply disapprove_."

"I can hear you! And I have right and reason to disapprove!"

A moment passed. Long enough for Cass and Dick's sniggers to die down; for Dick to go to nibbling at the inside of his lip and thanking about the date, about the number burning a hole in his back pocket.

Savanna had liked him. Dick was open and honest, Wally and Babs had said charming, and most people instantly did.   
And Savanna... Savanna was nice and funny and a little bit ridiculous, familiar in her smiles and the jokes she told. It was a shame he didn't like her too.

A quiet, but for the glide of a pencil against paper coming from behind the sofa, to where Damian had returned, settled.

Cassandra poked at Dick's cheek to get his attention. "Thinking about Wally? Or worrying about Damian?"

"Both." He shrugged.

Wally was his best friend, yes, his right hand _and_ his left. The person he cared most for— loved most deeply— outside of Babs and the family.

But Damian was his little brother, and to not have his little brother's approval stressed at Dick's mind more than it ever had in the past.

A low bark sounded out in the room, and Damian's hushed, "It's okay, boy. It's okay," pushed the heaviness of Dick's thought to the back of his mind.

A problem to mull over later. Or to ignore until unavoidable.

Heaving a sigh, Dick looked up at Cass. "I worry, worry, worry. About everything and everything else."

Cassandra nodded her agreement.

"You know," she said, after a minute of them blankly watching the TV, "You and Wally already do all of that stuff."

Dick hummed as he thought it over. Cocking an eyebrow, he said, "Well. We don't kiss."

He might have misheard— a trick of his exhaustion, or the warping of a voice too close to the fire in an ancient echoey room— but he was certain he heard a mumbled "And you shouldn't" from Damian.

A problem to mull over later, he reminded himself. A problem for later. Or for never.

*

He loved spending time with the family, more and more as the years past and as he got older.

Large dinners where everyone and their partner was invited, or days where it was just him dragging Tim, Cassandra and Damian out of the manor for something other than patrol.

It felt good, after everything they had been through.

 _You're your own_ _cockblock_ _._ Jason had texted, along with a short video of him hanging upside down and shaking his head in what could only be construed as disappointment.

How he already knew about any of this was but a mild surprise to Dick.  
Sooner or later, everybody knew everybody else's business. It was something he had had to get used to, especially the bigger and bigger the family got.

 _You're supposed to respect your elders,_ he shot back _._ He slipped into his jacket as he aimed to make his way out, pausing before sending a quick, _Little_ _Jaybird_ _._

Curled up on the sofa, Cass had fallen asleep and, once it looked like Dick would soon be following her into a light nap, Damian lead Ace and Titus out of the room. Throwing a curt goodbye over his shoulder, he was gone, his light steps up to his room loud in the near silence.

Light from the kitchen poured into the passage.

An undisturbed quiet came from the room, too quiet for Alfred to be busy inside.

Dick slid his phone into his back pocket and, for a second, just stood in the doorway watching Bruce flip through the book of crossword puzzles Jason and Cass had put together for Bruce's last birthday.

The barest peek of wide bandages wound around his torso could be seen under his shirt. He sat rigid, unforgiving against the pain.

"Finally done terrorising my children with stories of your love life?" Bruce asked, the nonchalance of him turning to the next page ruined by the hint of a smirk.

Huffing, Dick threw his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm not _terrorising._ Who told you I was terrorising?" he challenged easily, ambling over to rest his hip against the table.

"I don't need anyone to tell me what's going on in my own home."

"Was it Damian? It was Damian, wasn't it?"

Bruce shrugged, the movement forcibly loose. "Do you want to talk about it with me, Dick? I am your father after all and you may not believe this—"

"Nope. No. Not at all. I do _not_ want to talk about my love life with my _dad_."

"You may not believe this," he continued, "but I've had more than my fair share of romantic troubles."

"I'm really the last person you have to convince." Dick swiped a sip of Bruce's tea and made to count out on his fingers, "Talia, Selina, Talia, Clark, Selina, Diana for a while, Dinah, Clark again, Selina _again_ _,_ Talia _again,_ Clark."

Rolling his eyes, Bruce took back his cup. "This isn't about _me_ , Dick. I'm trying... I'm trying to be more _here_ for you— for all of you— for the little things, too." He offered a shaky smile at the end; one that sang of a man who wasn't too used to offering those kind of smiles. "I'm here. I'm open. I'm receptive."

Dick would have laughed at how ridiculous it all was, if it didn't mean so much to him.

"I know. I know." Dick said, finally. He pulled Bruce to him and placed a kiss to the side of his father's forehead, wrinkled with age and lined with a head of salt and pepper. "Her name is Savanna, no h, we're friends now and we definitely will never be anything more than friends. Oh, and Cass is convinced the only way I'll ever be truly happy is if I marry Wally West." Dick danced out of Bruce's reach. "Bye."

"Wait." Bruce sounded confused, spinning in his chair to watch Dick leave. " _Wally West_? Richard John Grayson, I forbid you—"

"You can't forbid me, number one," Dick began, walking backwards out the room, "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"And number two?"

Dick didn't answer. Stepping out onto the porch, he lost Bruce's voice behind the heavy closing of the manor door.

"Number two," he whispered, placing his hands into his jacket pockets and spinning on his heel, "You don't have to forbid me; Wally West is the straightest motherfucker on this side of the sun."

*

It was late when he got into his apartment.

Pulling out his phone he determinedly slid past the texts from Jason and Duke and— Dick pinched the bridge of his nose— _Roy_ , to the series of hurriedly typed out messages Wally had sent sometime between Dick leaving the manor and him getting back to Bludhaven.

 _Heard_ _abt_ _date from Barb_  
_Sexy redhead? Always knew u have good taste D !_  
_Proud of you ;(_

Dick snorted out a laugh— what did any of that even mean? The sound rang out around him and he was instantly aware of how alone he was in his apartment.

After all the time in his own place, he figured he would have been more used to it.

He kicked his jeans to the floor and flung his shirt to the foot of his bed. Tiredness had been creeping over him all and night and, rubbing at his eyes, he followed it under his sheets.

It was late enough that Wally wouldn't be too busy. Even if he was, he almost never missed a call from Dick. They were always there for each other, it was why they were best friends; why they worked.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and Dick sighed.

"Hey—" Wally answered, breathless, a moment before Dick decided to hang up.

"Hey." Dick chuckled, despite himself. He curled up into a tight ball and melted into the sound of Wally's voice; the familiarity of it, the welcoming warmth of it.

"Weird not to have you out here with me."

"Yeah. Thought I'd skip tonight."

"For... more promising things?" Wally questioned, slowly. The wiggle of his eyebrow clear as crystal in Dick's mind.

He shook his head. "No. _No._ Well, a new friend is always a promising thing."

A gentle laugh came over the phone, teased its way around Dick and settled hotly into the pit of his stomach; a stone and a budding flower. "That's why I love you, Dick. Always looking at the bright side."

Dick exhaled another laugh, a hushed and delicate thing echoing in his apartment, as he tried not to tangle into the way _I love you, Dick_ rolled off Wally's tongue. "Tell me about your day?" he urged.

"I thought Dick Grayson didn't sleep. You sound pretty near asleep to me."

"It's been a pretty tiring day off for me."

"I thought Dick Grayson didn't take days off."

"Ssh." Dick rubbed a hand over his eyes. He tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn into his palm. "Tell me about your day?" he repeated.

Wally spoke and Dick could hear the smile in his voice. "Anything for you, D. Where to begin—? I hope you know you owe me dinner for this. Okay— I guess it was a boring day, for the most part— as boring as helping Donna and Kory take out some drug smugglers can be..."

Burying himself tighter into his sheets, Dick listened to Wally's voice get further and further away.

*

A loud chime sent Dick waking with a start.

His phone still held firm between his head and the pillow, the sound burst into his ear.

"I'm up, I'm up!" he slurred, shocked and sleepily yelling, wiping away a dot of drool on his chin.

Wally's good night text, which had swiftly been followed by a _u snore enough 2 wake the dead... should i say good morning? good morning for when u wake up n c this,_ popped up on Dick's screen.

A sleepy smile crept across his face.

For a moment he let himself relish in the daydream that Wally was his boyfriend, his lover away on business ready to sweep Dick into a flurry of kisses upon his arrival later that day.

Dick caught himself.

He shook his head and unlocked his phone to open the email that had woken him.

 _Dear Mr_ _Grayson—_ His eyes skimmed the rest of the screen, catching on the words _We are delighted to inform you that your application has been accepted_ and only then halting.

"Application?" he read aloud. Confusion etched into his brow, into his new frown.

 _Your application has been accepted. We at_ Dinner Date USA _look forward to having you as the next contestant on our show._

"Application!" Dick groaned loudly.

Everything clicked into place then, he cursed Barbara, and he fell hard against the stack of rumpled pillows.


	2. My Brother, The Reality TV Heartthrob, Who Would've Guessed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited and added minor changes to the last chapter ♡

For a long moment Dick didn't move, just pressed his head to the cool tile above the bathroom sink and tried to reign in his racing thoughts. He had to let his mind settle, and Wally wasn't answering any of his calls. 

Reality TV. "Oh God," he breathed, slowly. Reality TV. Because that hadn't gone wrong for superheroes in the past.

Bruce was going to kill him. Then he was going to call Talia and put Dick in the Lazarus Pit, just to kill him all over again. 

He had to call Wally. He had to visit Bruce and hope his smile would be enough for forgiveness. He had to— He caught sight of his reflection and, despite himself, choked out a laugh and smiled; he had to get his act together.

Anyway, he allowed, the adopted son of Gotham's notorious billionaire playboy on a small-time reality dating show? That wouldn't just be accepted, but largely expected. 

Dropping his shoulders, Dick ran shower-slick fingers through damp hair and styled it into something just on the right side of neat— parted, not too preppy.

He would still have to call ahead and warn Bruce. Later, he promised. 

A pale blue shirt buttoned right to the collar and dark jeans pressed and hugging his figure, Dick made his way through the small apartment to the kitchen. 

"You're not doing this," Damian, seated cross-legged on the kitchen counter, said in lieu of a greeting. The roughness of his voice and the harshness of his glare was effectless, his mouth full with dry cereal and arm stuck halfway in the large box. 

Dick didn't start. He was used to Damian, to his little surprise visits. "You're buying me more cereal," he dead-panned over his shoulder as he bent to rifle through his fridge. 

Grunting, Damian shook his head. "You are not going on that TV show. You are not going on those dates."

"Uh huh."

"Grayson, are you listening to me?" He was off the counter and beside Dick before Dick could guess he was even going to move. His hand, covered in bright cereal dust, gripped the corner of Dick's shirt. Anger in his voice, a hint of pleading, Damian pushed, "You are not going. You can't go."

"I already signed up, Dami. I've made a commitment, both moral and contractual, they need me to come in today and that's what I'm gonna do," Dick said, trying to sound reasoning. "I can't exactly abandon them, now can I?" 

"Yes, you can."

"No. I can't." He tapped Damian on the cheek and met his angry gaze with a soft smile. Damian was fiercely protective over all of them, to a both precious and worryingly saddening extent. "How do you even know about this, anyway?" Dick asked, momentarily veering to safer waters. "Damian. Did you bug my apartment again?" 

"Your phone was out. And you take forever in the shower."

"Twenty minutes. It was twenty minutes!" The smile that had eased its way across Dick's face was met with an angry scowl. 

"Forever." He loosened his hand, dropped it to his side. 

Damian's sweatshirt, too big for him, hanged like a dress to just above his knees. Dick smiled to see it, worn and bearing a faded logo; his Gotham University sweatshirt, left behind in the Manor after he moved out what felt like ages ago. 

Hiding his smile, Dick flicked Damian on his shoulder. "Nice sweats, kid."

Swatting him away, Damian scowled. Shoulders squared, his arms crossed over his chest and he stared Dick in the eye. "Grayson... Why are you so obsessed with finding romance?" Direct, too. He was nothing if not every bit his father's son.

Dick strolled past him. Ruffling the head of thick black hair, gelled into unruly sharp spikes, he earned himself a jab in the thigh. 

"Does Bruce know you're here?" 

Damian grunted. He followed behind Dick and, kneeling, balanced himself on one of the stools lining the counted. "Answer my question," he demanded. 

"Answer mine. And have you eaten?"

"He knows. I left two notes and a message with Alfred." Damian rolled his eyes. "Now, why are you so obsessed with finding romance?" 

Dick quirked an eyebrow, daring Damian to refer to him stuffing his face with dry cereal as having eaten. 

He dropped his voice to a mumble. "I haven't eaten."

"Huh," Dick murmured. 

Even before beginning to search through the rest of his cupboards, he gave up. All he had left was two-minute noodles and an empty jar of peanut butter. He chucked the jar over the his shoulder and into the open trash can.  
The downside to having a speedster as his best friend was definitely the metabolism rate. Wally cleared his cupboards every weekend and somehow always managed to make himself scarce once time for grocery shopping became available. 

He turned, rested the back of his head against the cupboard doors. The ceiling was rife with cracks, absently he wondered if his landlord would mind him fixing and painting over them. 

"Hm." Damian waited, impatiently. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked over at Damian. Sometimes he realized how young the boy was, and it surprised him. 

"I'm not 'obsessed' with finding romance." He sighed. "It's just... When you get to a certain age, and you're seeing all your friends and most of your exes and even some of your enemies in love and prospering and in steady relationships, it starts to get to you. You start to remember what that felt like— to love, to be in love, to be with someone like that— and you want to feel it again. Loneliness, Damian. Loneliness can be the heaviest burden."

And, God, sometimes he got so lonely he could barely stand it. The thought of a hand in his in the day and a warm pair of arms around him in the night was a welcome comfort. And if short red hair played at the corner of his daydreams, he was slave to let it.

Silence met him. Damian could be cold, even occasionally cruel, but he was rarely silent. He sat with his chin cupped in the palm of his hands, eyes burning holes into the newly-empty cereal box. 

Not a good sign. Obviously. 

"Why can't you date like a normal person?" Damian asked, eventually. "If you're so lonely why can't you do it like everybody else?" 

Dick sighed. "You know that dating isn't so easy for our community."

"What about Shawn? Things were good with Shawn, even if she did insult me."

"That didn't end well. You know that didn't end well."

"Because she went back to being a villain? Father gave both Mother and Selina chances, several times." Damian pulled his mouth into a pout. "What about Barbara?" 

"This is different. Plus, neither of those relationships worked out well, did they? Even after those several times." A wistful smile danced on his lips, then. "As for your suggestion... Babs and Dinah are happy together, and I'm happy for them."

"The alien, then? Koriand'r?" 

Despite his attempt not to, Dick's face pulled into a grimace. They had both tried— time and time again, they had tried— but by the end maybe they hadn't been trying hard enough.

He and Kory would always love each other, just not in any way that either of them needed.

He shook his head, shook away the love and the dread and the grief. He didn't want to think about any of that now, not when his youngest brother was giving him the third degree and he had an appointment to meet.

"What about Harper?" 

Before he could reign it in, Dick grimaced. "How'd you know about Roy?"

Two months of stolen dates and heated visits was hardly what Dick considered a worthwhile relationship. They had had fun together, but they had also tried hard to keep everything a secret— from the Titans, from their friends and families— and in the end that wasn't what Dick was looking for, wasn't what either of them truly wanted or needed. 

Damian shouldn't have known about it at all. 

"Todd." The answer came with a pair of rolled eyes. As if it should have been obvious. 

Of course. 

The next time Dick saw Jason, he was going to punch him, he set his jaw and resolved. "How much time do you people spend speculating my love-life?" lightly, a laugh staining the edges of the biting remark, Dick demanded. 

"It's not just your love-life we're interested in. Besides, Todd didn't say anything to me. I overheard them talking when he was supposed to be on patrol." He tapped his fingers against the countertop. "They seem very close."

"Talking about what? How close?" Dick almost asked. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself; it wasn't healthy to still want to know. 

Instead, flicking lightly at Damian's shoulder, Dick made for the front door. "We'll get you something to eat, and you can take some Bludhaven-special connolis home for Cass."

"Uh," Damian started, following close behind, "Bludhaven-special? That doesn't sound so good."

"You're in for a surprise, then, little buddy." He laughed at the frown playing on Damian's face. Slinging an arm across his shoulders, Dick pulled Damian to his side and lead them out into the mid-morning traffic.

*

Dick and Damian were Waynes through-and-through. They had been having dinners in fancy restaurants since they were children; had lived in opulence for most of their lives. 

The restaurant, for all it paled in comparison to some of the others the boys visited, was one of Bludhaven's better ones. Though, Dick was certain, Gordon Ramsay would have a field day tearing it apart and making it over. 

Uniformed crew mill inside, neatening tables and adjusting lenses. At the sight of them, despite all his confidence, Dick faltered. 

"Mr Grayson!" a young woman burst through the restaurant's doors and greeted, loud and lively. "We've been waiting for you. You're seven point six minutes late, but that's okay!" 

"Oh, uh, sorry." Dick gestured loosely at Damian, whose hands were covered in sauce from his overflowing hotdog, and beamed. "I'm looking after my baby brother today."

Damian glared at the sound of 'baby.' Around his mouthful of hotdog, he snarled. 

"Hm," the woman hummed, taking a step back. She hadn't introduced herself, but her nametag read Patrice. "Precious. Well. The menu's are already out and once you're done speaking to Barney and Lloyd about some... legalities... we should have you behind the camera! Lickety-split! Wrapped up before four." 

"Lickety-split," Dick echoed, smiling.

Nervousness roiled in the pit of his stomach, clashed with uncertainty and fell into something almost sweet excitement. 

Patrice spun on her heel. Dick fell right in line and was almost instantly caught up in chaos. 

*

"So..." Dick began. Casting a glance over the cameras, he shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I just read out the menus and talk about what sounds good?" 

Patrice nodded. An older man, who had pulled Dick into a rough hug when they first met and went by Milky, said, "We'll guide you where needed. Calm down. And smile a bit more, honey, you've got a gorgeous one."

A blush blossomed on Dick's cheeks. He bit back a smile and cleared his throat; across the room, Damian scoffed. "Okay. Menu one." 

One of the crew had given Damian a container of chocolate chip cookies. Stuffing his face across the room, he stared at Dick, boredom and annoyance dancing behind his eyes.

Dick exhaled. 

"Sweet potato and feta cheese chessboard salad, hm," he read aloud, voice overbright and too perky to his own ears, and grimaced. Patrice's eyes went comically wide and she nodded, and Dick took that as his cue to read through the rest of the menu. "For the main we're looking at spicy Moroccan pastry parcels and roasted courgette Jenga, and Pictionary peanut and caramel cheesecake for dessert. Odd."

"Where's your head at, Richard?" Milky asked. 

His accent was difficult to place, Dick would get it once his mind wasn't so preoccupied.  
Bruce would have figured it out already, Dick knew, and the thought of his father, in that moment, almost made Dick cringe. 

"Hm? Well, it looks like it could be good— That cheesecake could almost be enough to win me over—" He grinned. "But I don't get board games as a theme, especially a theme for a dinner. It's not really keeping my attention, I'm afraid."

He picked up the second menu. Really felt the weight of it in his hands this time. 

Reality TV. He was sitting to appear on an episode of a reality TV show.  
He closed his eyes for one moment, the reality of the situation hitting him as sudden as a freight train. What would Bruce say when he found out? Jason? None of them would let him live it down. He'd be teased mercilessly for weeks, months even. 

Letting out a deep breath, Dick flipped open the book and ran his eyes down the page. He whistled low at the sight of the starter. "Prawns in tequila and lime with mango salsa. That's sexy," he said, grinning. "'Don't get shirty with me' A Mexican tower of butterfly chicken, rice and guacamole with cactus salad and, then, there's lemon tailored tart with crème fraîche and a lemon surprise. That's a trip right there. I love prawns and I'm always a sucker for Mexican food, especially if it's spicy, though I'm not so sure about the dessert— my uncle, Alfred, makes an amazing créme fraîche, I don't think any other could compare. It can't hurt to try new things though, can it?" He ended with a smile. 

Opening the third menu, he instantly wanted to close it and put it away. He settled for simply rolling his eyes. A trip to China for decadent duck spring rolls and a stopover in Thailand for Thai green curry and then back to mine for classic American black forest cake? Hard pass. 

Dick had no intention of spending the evening with someone who thought their ability to cook Asian food made them hyper-talented. 

They probably called it 'exotic cuisine' at every chance, Dick thought. He gritted his teeth and tried not to show he was gritting his teeth as he read the menu aloud. 

"How you doing, sweetheart?" Milky asked during a break, handing Dick a glass of cold water. 

Dick shrugged. "It's a little overwhelming, to be honest."

The break was short; afterall, the restaurant was only available to them for another hour and a half. 

Only two unread menus sat on the table before him. 

"So, this is menu four," he began, smiling at the camera. His eyes alighted on the first line, briefly, and he burst out laughing. It was a deep, body-shaking thing; he buried his mouth in his hand and forced himself to swallow it all. "'My champagne bisque drizzle, is the absolute bizzle with avocado prawns.'" He paused, took in a deep breath. "The main looks just as good— '"Ch... ch... ch... chicken me out Mozarella-stuffed chicken in Parma ham with broccoli gratin' and 'It'll only lead to treble white chocolate fondant, berries and cream.'"

He finished, and had to look away from the camera. A smile played on his face, even if he couldn't laugh. 

Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Dick said, "I'm a bit of a punny guy myself, you see, but I might be outcooked here. It sounds great."

Maybe it was the tiredness talking, or the distortion of reality at the idea of where he was sitting and what he was doing, but there was a familiarity in the fourth menu. One he couldn't place, yet niggling at the back of his mind as he absently read out the fifth and final one. 

More prawns this time around. It barely worked to keep his attention. 

All five done and his body stiff, Dick leaned back in the chair and stretched. He looked over at Damian and smiled— the boy sat curled on his side in a too big chair, a game of Candy Crush from the cellphone he had picked from Dick's pocket keeping him enough entertained. 

He breathed out a sigh of relief. 

Patrice tapped against a clipboard. "Alright, Dick, tell us which three you've chosen."

That morning, on the way to the restaurant, he had prepared for a greater challenge. He was somehow both pleased and disappointed at how much easier it had turned out. 

"The first menu I'm choosing is menu one— like I said, I'm not a huge fan of sweet potato, but, cheesecake!" He chuckled, beamed. "Then, I'm choosing menu two because it really is a sexy menu and it'd be foolish of me to turn down prawns in tequila. And of course, of course menu number four. I think I've been won over already! It reminds me of— Well, I mean, I'd like to see where a date with them could go." 

*

Bludhaven grit burned his nose and clung to his suit, to his skin. 

Funny enough, he was always his most comfortable self when he was swinging from building to building, soaring over the city, and on the lookout for crime. 

"Hey, ho, looking good 'Wing!" A vendor from below called, waving up at Dick as he passed over him.

It brought a smile to his face. 

He leaped onto the edge of a roof. The building tall and noticeable enough that Damian, who hardly spent time in Bludhaven, would find it with ease. 

"Took you long enough," a voice called from the shadows, and Dick dropped his head in defeat.

"Family reunion? Already?" Dick sniped dryly. "And I couldn't even warrant an invite."

"Family reunion?" Jason quirked an eyebrow, cocked his head to the side.

Falling to a crouch, Dick mimicked the gesture and pointed a thumb somewhere over his shoulder. "Dami's taking a lap around the city, he's been with me since the morning. Now you, my dearest brother, are here, too." 

Duke hopped down from the roof of the ancient greenhouse, bordered in bronze and filling the space of half the roof. Yellow and gold, he stood out; was sunshine in the darkness of a Bludhaven night. Landing with all the grace of a Robin, he perched on the edge of the bench behind Jason. "'Sup?" he greeted, pulling off his helmet and quirking a smile.

Dick's head dropped lower. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jason leaned back against the water tank. He leveled a cold stare on Dick and said, sharply, "What the shit, man, a reality show?" 

"Good for you, but I second that. Seriously, Dick, what the shit?" 

So, they new. Damian. It had to be him. 

Dick groaned. "You too, huh?" He nodded at Duke. "Did you at least bring Cass? I wouldn't want the sibling who still loves and looks up to me to miss out on the Shame and make fun of Nightwing segment of this beautiful event."

"She caught up with Damian on our way here and they're racing each other." Duke shrugged. "Babs and Steph are out on patrol with Bats. They want you to know— Well, the old man's a bit stricken, but the other two couldn't stop laughing."

"It's not a reality show, by the way." He stood up and stretched. "It's just one episode. One week of my life parading around on camera, that's all. I wouldn't be Brucie Wayne's son and heir if I didn't spend some time parading around on camera, now would I?" 

Duke rested his head on his knees and laughed. "You've got a point, I guess. You know we're brothers, and that means that if you want to talk, uh, relationship stuff, you can come to us."

The frown that had etched its way into Jason's face softened the slightest bit. It seemed reluctant, but his lips quirked into the hint of a smile, and he nodded. 

Dick felt a gentle pang in his chest. 

He found home on the more emotional side of things. He felt deeply and couldn't help it, neither did he really want to.  

Bumping against Jason's shoulder, Dick beamed at the both of them. "I know," he said, simply. 

"You're going to give dear ol' Dad a heart attack if you go through with this." Jason tapped him on the shoulder, his laugh low and rough. 

"The old man could use some non-life-threatening worries in his life. It's just one episode, anyway, it's not the worst I could do to find love." Dick hummed and raised a finger to his chin. "Though... I'm quite sexy... I could see myself as the Bachelor. Or, even better, on Love Island."

Reeling away dramatically, Duke raised a hand to his forehead. "My brother, the reality TV heartthrob, who would've guessed?"

"You think..." Jason looked away. He settled his gaze on the neon lighting Bludhaven's boulevard. "You think you're really going to find love on there, don't you, you sap?"

Dick shrugged. "It's happened before, hasn't it?"

"Sorry, to burst your bubble, but," Duke paused, searching for a gentle way to say it. "I've watched enough episodes to know most of them end with 'they have not remained in contact since filming ended.'"

"I'm not too worried. I'm quite charming. Even if things don't work out, maybe the right person will watch my episode and realize I'm a great catch." He smiled. Oh, how he hated being an optimist.

Jason balanced precariously on the ledge. Hands pushed deep in his pockets, he raised his eyes to scan the sky. "Looks like rain soon. You know I'm all about doing what you want and saying 'fuck you' to Bruce. But, what about trying with someone you actually know? Like—" 

"Please don't say—" 

"Like, Wally," he ended as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"Wally," Dick sighed. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, he's straight. Look. I heard that you and Roy are hanging out."

Scratching at the back of his neck, Jason strangled out a laugh. "We're on the same team, D, of course we hang out."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?" 

Muffled thuds sounded out from around the greenhouse, two pairs of booted feet landing on the aging brick and tile. Cassandra's laugh and the tail-end of a tease aimed Damian's way danced to them. 

Dick smiled; she always made him think of home. 

"Seriously, your relationship problems are more than enough for me to deal with." Duke chuckled, breaking the awkward tension that had managed to settle over the group. 

As much as Dick knew he didn't care that much about Roy, about what he was doing and who he was doing it with, the end of their relationship was new enough that it still stung to think about. 

And the idea of Roy and Jason? Dick shivered. 

Hopping off the ledge and landing in front of Dick, Jason leaned forward.

He clapped his hands down on Dick's shoulder and, pulling Dick under his arm, dropped his voice to a whisper loud enough for only the three of them to hear. "I'm not a romantic, okay, but we see the way Wally looks at you and the way he's always trying to touch you. I just think, out yourself out there with him, get some of that speedster dick and see how it goes." 

"Jason! The children!" Dick exaggerated, shoving his brother away. 

And that also made him think of home, but for more headache-inducing reasons.

Duke burst out laughing. "Yeah, Dick, get some of that di—!" 

"The children!" Exasperated, he threw his arms above his head. 

"Yeah, the children!" Cass said, in a near-perfect impersonation of Dick. Bounding across the roof, she landed gracefully in the crouch next to him. "Hey," she said, a smile in her voice, and her face turned up to look at him. "Are you having a midlife crisis?" 

"I'm twenty-six!" Dick exclaimed, and Cass shrugged like she didn't believe him. 

*

"I'm staying over." Adamant, Damian squared his shoulders and stared up at Dick. 

He carried himself like a prince, carried his self-importance and pride in every line of his body and every spoken word. But Dick looked in his eyes, and he saw a sheen of wetness and uncertainty; he saw a child. 

Dick shook his head and smiled. 

"Between work and getting ready for the date, I'm too busy tomorrow. How about next week, hmm, you and Cass and Tim? We can order pizzas and milkshakes big enough to make you sick... And you can also meet my new lover."

Damian screwed up his face and cringed. "No Drake. And don't put it like that."

"Like what? My lover? C'mon, it's a term of endearment." He cracked a smile and touched his fist to Damian's shoulder. "You'll understand when you start dating, it's much more romantic."

Jason whistled for their attention and gestured for Damian to hurry. Already, he had missed dinner, and neither Alfred nor Bruce would be too happy with him arriving home any later. 

It was easy to forget that, for all his facade of toughness and for all he sacrificed his life on a daily basis, Damian was still very much a child.  
Small and stunted and worried about losing the affection of the brother who had never abandoned him, never demanded him, never placed conditions on his love. Just a child. 

Dick pulled him into a tight hug; he couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to. "After this, I promise," he said. "The four of us will hang out and do nothing, okay, Little D? I promise."

Rubbing at his cheek, Damian looked away and nodded. "You know I... I want..."

"You want me to be happy."

Damian nodded again. A faint blush colouring his skin. 

"I know, bud, I know." He hugged Damian tighter and smiled into his shoulder. "Don't worry about it too much. I'm fine, and I will be fine. And if all else fails, I can always count on the family and Wally to make me feel better again."

A laugh Damian tried to force down found its way out. He pushed Dick away and, with a last wave from Cass, Jason and Duke, they were all gone.

Dick made his way home. Moving from building to building, he breathed out the tension he'd carried since the morning. 

Tomorrow. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. 

If nothing else, at least it would be an experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually googled how they do the casting and episodes for the show and... Wow... This fic is just fundamentally inaccurate on so many levels. But this way is less technical and more fun anyway! 
> 
> All menus are ones previously used on the show and iirc the part where Dick reads them out loud is usually a voiced over bit, but I changed it for effect!
> 
> I tend to change urls a lot but right now you can find my tumblr in bio!  
> Check me out if you want to see me lovepost about 90s Batman, semi-obscure comic book characters and Talia Al Ghul! And don't be shy to hit me up if you want me to write the boys in any other silly situations!


	3. Just Say You Feel The Way That I Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from Sexual by Neiked which is just... such a catchy song... and pretty much all I listened to while writing this chapter.

~~~~

**_Day One_ **

"Do you want to hang out tonight?" Wally asked. A chair scraped across the floor and the sound of dishes carelessly set into the sink and water running followed soon through the phone. "Dinner and a movie? I'll make it worth your while," he continued into Dick's silence, the playful wiggle of his eyebrows vivid in Dick's mind.

Dick pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Staring at a spot just over his mirror, he let it go with a loud pop.

He and Wally were so comfortable with each other, the casual flirting had started and Dick had fell into it without ever been able to get it to stop, without even wanting it to.   
And their closeness... It could drive him to the edge of insanity just as much as it felt like home.

Running a hand down the front of the burnt orange sweater he'd decided to wear tonight, against Babs's narrow-eyed advice, Dick sighed.

The camera crew would be here any moment now. As it was, he was stealing bare minutes to talk to Wally.  
The sun was drawing nearer to the horizon and, despite himself, his hands began to shake nervously. He needed to hear Wally's voice, even if just an echo of a breath saying to call later; it was all that could calm his nerves.

Keeping Wally in the dark served its purpose in that talking to him was as easy as always.

"Dick? You okay, or do I have to come over?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm okay. You can't. Come over, I mean. I have a date tonight."

"Oh." Dick heard the tap being yanked closed. Wally didn't say anything for seconds that seemed to draw themselves out too painfully long, then he coughed out a laugh. "A date, huh? Tomorrow night, then, if you want. There's a carnival in town, if I'm remembering right."

Dick wanted to scream. "I can't do tomorrow night either, Walls. How's next week sound for you?"

"I, actually, next week might be different. I mean, I might not be so available after this week." Wally cleared his throat. "Do you understand?"

"Not... Really...?" Even though Wally couldn't see him, Dick shook his head.

His mind was in a million different places: he couldn't decide whether changing into something less eye-catching was the better option, and Wally was saying a lot of the right things and a lot of things that didn't make any sense, and the idea of tonight's dinner was nibbling away at his stomach.

Wally groaned, exasperation evident in the length of it. "Dick, look, can we meet at all, even a few minutes? There's something I want to tell you— And also something I guess I've wanted to tell you for a while but that I _just_ realized I _need_ to tell you."

A knock at the door immediately drew away Dick's attention. He sprung from his mirror and bound to the door. "Next week, Wally, I promise." He hung up with the end of his goodbye still on his lips.

*****

Dick bound downstairs, nervous and excited energy gathering in his legs and settling at the base of his throat.

"How're you feeling, Richard? Tell us what you expect from tonight, any hopes or fears you might have. Stuff like that." Patrice asked, once they were in the waiting car, a discreet black Mercedes. Bruce would approve. Probably.

He rested a hand on a crossed knee and shrugged. "I'm nervous," he said, looking into the camera. "I'm trying not to think about the dinner much, or about whoever's waiting for me. I mean, the love of my life could be waiting on the other side of that door and I don't want to go in stressed and on edge and potentially scaring them off."

Patrice nodded. She waved a hand, encouraging him to continue.

But Dick didn't really know what to say. His mind was in a million pieces, and he wanted to go back to the beginning of the evening and have Wally, voice quiet in his ear.

He shrugged. "No hopes, no fears, just that I'm gonna be myself and hope that's enough."

The car stopped on a road of cozy brownstones. Dick breathed in deeply before casting Patrice a smile and walking to a bright red front door.

This was it, not even the most reckless thing he had ever done in his life and yet the one thing making him most nervous.

He held a breath in his chest until he was as close to ready as possible.

His knuckles barely rapped against the door when it was leisurely pulled open. A man not much older than Dick trained liquid dark eyes and an easy smile on him. "Hey," he said, voice and accented in the kind of British accent that was more attractive than off-putting, holding out a manicured hand. "I'm Lucas. Come on in."

"I'm Richard, but I friends call me Dick," he said, voice _almost_ catching in his throat.

If there was anyone who could make Dick forget about Wally, it was sure to be this man who radiated warmth and wore his white shirt with the top three buttons popped and his pants tailored to fit his body perfectly.

Dick followed behind him and swallowed. When he had chosen the first menu, this was not the kind of person he had been expecting to meet.   
Classy, that was how Dick thought of Lucas, confident and self-assured. He carried himself as if he never once doubted who he was, and that shot right to Dick's head.

He really had been single for too long, he silently admonished himself, if the sight of an attraction stranger was enough to turn him into a teenager.

"So... Dick... Champagne?" Lucas offered, voice dancing over the sound of Dick's name. Even with the cameras on them, it was strangely intimate. "I don't really drink myself, but what's one glass between friends."

"I'll have just half a glass." He breathed out a low laugh. "I'm not a big drinker, either."

Walking through the apartment, his eye had alighted on a few signs of some wealth. Large paintings, framed expensively, dressed the walls, and a crystal chandelier adorned the living room they had settled in.

It was gorgeous. "Your home is beautiful," Dick said.

"Thank you, collecting art is a bit of a passion of mine." Lucas smiled, and his cheeks dimpled.

That sweet smile, with the fact that every time he moved Dick caught a glimpse of his muscled chest, went straight to Dick's head and weakened his knees just the smallest amount.   
He had been single too long, and now he'd end up choosing who to go on a second date with by how thirsty they left him instead of how good of a partner they could be if given the chance.

It was hard, keeping himself from slapping his hand to his forehead.

A timer went off in the kitchen and Lucas excused himself with a small smile, and Jason and Babs's voices chanting "Dick go get that dick! Dick go get that dick!" over that morning's call filled his head and drowned out almost every other thought.

"I like him," Dick whispered to the cameras, when they swiveled on him. "He's really fucking sexy. Oh, oop! Can I swear on TV? Sorry, sorry. He's really, uh, freaking sexy. Very attractive. I _want t_ o get to know him more."

The smell of pastry and fresh vegetables mingled together and wafted into the living room. It smelled delicious, and Dick's stomach rumbled at the thought of sitting down to eat that meal, with that man.

Just then, Lucas popped his head into the room. His eyes under the crystal were alight. "Dinner's ready— well, some of it anyway. May I... escort you to the dining room?"

Dick nodded, and a low laugh bubbled out of him as he held out his arm. "You may."

They walked slowly to the small dining room, sharing small talk about their day and laughing over a video Dick had seen that morning. Lucas let go of the arm looped through his, almost reluctantly, and pulled Dick's chair out for him.

Mentally, Dick swore. If he hadn't been somewhat smitten already, he sure was now.

The sweet potato and feta cheese chessboard salad was less basic than it sounded, with roasted nuts and vegetables Dick couldn't name and sides of lightly toasted bread.

It was surprising.

"I'll be honest," Dick said, on his second glass of wine and halfway through the Moroccan pastry parcels and roasted courgette main. "You were not who I was anticipating to serve me this meal."

"I like how you talk. Are you tipsy?" Lucas laughed, low, a light blush on his cheeks.

"Not at all. I can handle my alcohol well," he lied.

Wiping away at a flake of pastry that had stuck to his bottom lip, Lucas frowned. "I was trying to get as much of me in the menu as possible... And I kind of went and got the most boring part of me in there."

"If you could redo your menu, what would you put?"

"Something art related," Lucas answered without hesitating. Another one of his sweetly dimpled smiles flashed over Dick, warmed him from across the table. Or maybe that was the third glass of wine he was sipping on. "It makes more sense, you know. It's more me."

"More you." Dick smiled. "Yeah. I'm sure I would still have chosen you."

Dessert was served and, tipsy as he was, Dick moaned around his first mouthful of cheesecake.

"Good?" eyes flashing, Lucas asked.

"I want to take you home with me and have you make this all the time. This might be..." Taking another bite, Dick smiled. "This might be better than sex."

" _Oh_ , you're definitely drunk!" A laugh curled in each of his words, and then he was dishing a second helping of the cheesecake into Dick's plate.

*

The date had ended with a slow kiss at the door, and Lucas has seen enough of the show to know that most dates didn't end up like that.

The way that Dick's hands had rested on his chest made Lucas wish they would cut it out of the episode completely. _Not family friendly_ , he thought, the feel of Dick's mouth lingering on his like the aftereffect of a tickle.

Cameras circled his living room and, as he cleared the dinner table, watched his every step. And their attention, now that Dick was gone, made him slightly uneasy.

He had loosened his shirt at Patrice's request. "Gives the illusion that we've caught you in the middle of relaxing and cleaning up," she had said, but Lucas was sure it was more to give viewers some eye-candy as they watched.

"Dick's a proper sort," he said, pushing dark hair off his face, the taste of the other man's lips still on his. "Good-looking _and_ smart _and_ real easy to hold a conversation with. It's like winning the jackpot. I'd give him three out of three but he told some of the worst jokes I've ever heard." At that, Lucas grinned. "Two point five stars. I'd love to see him again."

•

_**Day Two** _

Dick had weekends off and that was fortunate because he woke to a distant throbbing at the front of his skull and a headache that stuck its claws in and refused to budge.

Three glasses of champagne? He groaned into his coffee. Either that stuff was strong, or he was more of a lightweight than he realized. Oh, they'd also shared a glass of margherita, Dick remembered with a smile. And tasted the wine Lucas' sister had sent him for his twenty-seventh birthday.

 _Stupid move, Grayson._ Open air would do him good, Dick knew.

So he purposefully didn't look at his phone, not ready to see the barrage of texts from the few people he had told about the show. The pain barely subsiding, he showered and slipped out of a window without being seen.

It was easier as Nightwing. There were few problems Nightwing couldn't solve without critical thought and a kick to the face; in those moments he didn't have to be _Dick Grayson._ He didn't really have to be anyone at all.

It was also easier for getting rid of hangovers. Perched atop a building, just above where Bludhaven's air of pollution stopped being able to touch, Dick munched on a dry bagel and swallowed down too sweet coffee. He took a deep breath of fresh air, and the throbbing headache started to subside.

He looked out over the skyline. When you looked past the layer of grime that seemed to coat everything in Bludhaven, the city was truly beautiful.

A gush of wind blew past him, ruffling at his hair and tugging a gentle smile onto his face. A streak of red and blue ran into Dick's side and pulled him to the other end of the roof.

Dick held on, laughing easily; always laughing so easily when it came to Wally.

When they slowed to a stop, Wally's arms were wound tight around Dick's waist  and he was all but crushing Dick back against his chest. "Hey," he said, spinning them in a slow circle.

"Please put me down." Dick pushed, without any strength or intent, at the arms around him.

"So, no 'hey, Wally, my beautiful gorgeous man-friend, I am so happy to see you'? Nothing." Wally rubbed his nose into Dick's neck. And that— That was one step too far.

Rolling his eyes, Dick kicked his heels into Wally's thighs at the same time he pushed at his arms. He slipped free and stretched, laughing with his back to Wally as he prayed for his flush to subside.

He wouldn't lose Wally if his feelings were found out, he knew that much. But there was a certain vulnerability in being known, in one's unrequited emotions being in the open, that Dick was entirely certain he did not want.

Wally rested a hand on Dick's shoulder.

Shrugging him off, Dick turned to face  him. "Hey, Wally, my beautiful gorgeous man-friend, I am so happy to see you," he said, breaking into a wide grin. A grin that felt only slightly forced. "What are you doing here?"

Eyes that missed very little took Dick in; traced the space of his face not covered by the domino mask and frowned, ever so slightly. He met Dick's eyes through the mask and, after a short moment that seemed to drag on for hours, grinned just as wide.

"Let's get some coffee into you," he suggested.

"I have coffee." Dick looked over his shoulder and saw a brown puddle where he'd been standing five minutes earlier, the matching brown paper cup having landed at the lip of a drain. " _Had_ coffee," he corrected, eyes narrowing at his friend.

A sheepish smile inched across Wally's face. Dick's heart leapt at the sight, that gentle slope of his lips against the unmarred background of his face. "I'll get you a new cup, promise. I'll get you ten new cups of coffee. Whatever. Whatever you want."

It was foolish to think he could ever move on from this. Ridiculous to think that an empty reality show would present him with the next great love of his life when Wally West existed, when Wally West ran across whole cities to spend a morning with his friend, when Wally West looked at him with such love that it hurt to look away. But Dick had to look away, because if he looked too long he might misconstrue what that love meant; he might hurt himself deeper than he'd ever been hurt before.

 _And,_ Dick frantically backpedaled. Last night hadn't been _empty._ Lucas had been fun and lively and inviting, and they had kissed. In front of a half dozen cameras. But that kiss had felt _so good,_ too good to be chalked up to a good dinner and a better selection of wine.

Without any warning, Dick jumped on Wally's back and twined his arms loosely around his neck. His fingers brushed over Wally's chest, over his racing heartbeat.

"What?" Wally asked, voice suddenly breathy. He stumbled forward, slightly, but he dug his fingers into the backs of Dick's thighs and settled him until they were both comfortable.

But Dick just shook his head and said, "I stayed out too late and had too much to drink. If I'm going anywhere for the rest of the day, it's like this." Wally opened his mouth to argue, but Dick shut him down. "No. Whatever I want, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." A smile Dick couldn't see played in his voice.

He pulled him close and laughed loudly as Wally sped from the rooftop to the street.

*

Bludhaven was hardly known for its beauty. Yet, strolling through this discreet park, tucked away and hidden in a corner, flowers blooming on either side of the winding pathway, Dick thought it deemed higher recognition.

"So, how was your date?" Wally asked, sipping on his frappucino. "There's, uh, wait," he stopped and wiped away a dot of cream on Dick's upper lip.

His finger lingered. His eyes, bright blue and only brighter in the sun, met Dick's and he smiled.

"Thanks, Walls," Dick said, feeling the flush he had tried to hide earlier making itself known. He tugged at the hem of the loose blue shirt he had changed into, gestured needlessly in the air. "And about my date—"

"Oh, yes, your date."

"It was good." He allowed himself a small smile. "At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I think I might have met The One."

"The One?"

"You know, Mr Right," Dick continued, nudging an elbow lightly into Wally's side. "He was... God, he was so handsome."

"Handsome, huh?"

"Dark eyes and dark hair, and really classy, too."

"That's like the opposite of me," Wally said, pulling a face.

Dick chuckled. "I guess it kinda is."

"So you really like him?" Wally asked, at the same time Dick asked, "Wasn't their something you wanted to tell me?"

Wally just shook his head. Silent, he pointed at Dick to go first.

They ducked under an arching tree branch, Wally holding back the lower branches so that they wouldn't whack Dick in the face.

It almost felt like a date. Dick hated that.

Clearing his throat, he looked away. "It's weird to just click with someone on a first date, but I think we clicked."

"I'm, uh, I'm happy for you, Dick."

"Thanks, I'm happy for me, too—"

"Look," Wally interjected, dropping an exaggerated glance down at his watch. "I have to go. I just remembered I have to be somewhere else."

And he was gone before Dick could say goodbye.

*

He left the sweater at home for that's night's date. The pale blue shirt and navy pants he donned were both items Bruce had bought him. Expertly cut, they made Dick look more sophisticated than he felt.

The first thing Dick noticed when the front door opened was that the woman was short, easily a whole head shorter than Dick. The second, that she was absolutely stunning.

"Marisol," she introduced herself, pulling Dick into a loose hug. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"Dick," he said, smiling wide into her shoulder. "Thank you for having me."

Her short white dress clung to her figure. And if Dick thought tonight's date was going to be any easier to get through than his date with Lucas, he was thinking differently now.

Too long, he cursed. Too single for too long.

He followed her into a spacious living room. A bookshelf taking up an entire wall immediately caught his eye. "Wow," he said, whistling low.

"Oh, do you read much?" Marisol asked. She handed Dick a glass of wine and stood next to him.

"Not like when I was a kid," Dick admitted. He ran a finger over the spines of the books nearest him, they had been arranged in colour order and he couldn't resist touching along the line of blue. Raising his shoulders in a shrug, he said, "There's just no time anymore, is there?"

"I understand that, but I try to make time. I think I'd go mad if I couldn't read anything."

Dick laughed, warmly. "That's how I feel about... Acrobatics."

"You're an acrobat?"

"I used to be, when I was a kid. It's mostly a hobby now." He looked at the bookshelf again, a crooked smile quirked at his lips. "So, a rainbow, huh?"

Marisol barked a laugh. "Just a bit of pride— I'm bisexual. I've got the books in my room arranged in blue, purple and pink."

"I'm bi, too," Dick said, laughing, any tension he had held in his shoulders draining away. And _more books?_ Jason would have a field day talking to Marisol, spending time in her house. "Your home is like a library. That's awesome."

They sat down to eat, and Dick breathed in the richness of the prawns tequila and lime and mango salsa placed before him.

It looked exquisite and tasted almost restaurant quality. Dick told Marisol that, and she beamed.

"My ex-boyfriend was a sailor. Well, he _is_ a sailor." She shrugged. "He taught me a few tricks of the trade."

"Any chance you might teach me a few of those tricks of the trade?"

Pulling her brow into a tight furrow, Marisol deepened her voice. "You must honour the fish, Marisol, honour the crustacean set before you."

Dick couldn't help himself, he laughed loudly.

She made a small bow and grinned. "He was always saying stuff like that. I used to find it charming."

Her smile tightened and Dick recognized all too well the image of someone still hurting over an old relationship. He wondered if he looked like that whenever he talked about Kory, or Roy.

But, Marisol's eyes cleared quickly, and her frown disappeared.

Pouring them both another glass of wine, the conversation fell back into safer topic zones. Meandering from childhood memories to work to dreams of the future all through to the end of the main course, the spice biting at his tongue and halting their conversation as Dick drank down a glass of water.

"Too spicy?" Marisol asked, deftly sliding a bowl of sugar across the table.

Dick sprinkled a pinch on the tip of his tongue. The heat began to subside, and he cast a small, sheepish smile at Marisol. "Maybe a little bit," he conceded.

She cleared the table with ease, lifting plates and swatting Dick away as he tried to help with success.

The clutter of dishes rang out from the kitchen as Marisol busied herself with dessert's finishing touches. As soon as he had a moment alone— rather, a moment without Marisol— the cameras swung to face him.

Hands in his pockets, leaning back against the table, Dick was aware he was the image of nonchalance. In his minds eye he envisioned himself and how much he must look like Bruce, and he allowed a small, assured grin. "She's incredible," he said, when Patrice asked. "I mean... She's well-read, intelligent, _hilarious_ and, well, frankly, have you _seen_ her? And the food's been amazing so far, just crossing my fingers for dessert."

"I can bluff my way through a passable dinner but I'm not afraid to admit my failings," Marisol cautioned. A small serving of lemon tart with crème fraîche was placed before him, the smell was amazing. Dick feared that was where the compliments would have to stop. "Just... Don't judge it too harshly, yeah?"

Dick poked at the tart with a fork. "I'll try," he said. And if he prayed before the first mouthful, that was between him and God.

*

Marisol pulled her hair back into a loose bun. Her hair, dyed blonde before the summer, was starting to brown at the roots. She followed the line of the cameras, sweeping over her and her living room, and hoped only the best would be shown on the episode.

"What about Dick?" a producer, different from the woman Marisol had become quite familiar with while working on the show, asked. "Good or bad, how are you feeling?"

Slowly, Marisol smiled. He had been courteous, a true gentleman if she had ever met one, and a complete one-eighty from Graham, her ex-boyfriend. And maybe that was the problem.

Her shoulders dropped, until then she hadn't realized how stiffly she had been holding herself. She let out a sigh. "I liked him, I really, really did. He's a good guy, and he seems like he knows how to treat a lady well. But if we ever see each other again, it would be strictly as friends." The new producer motioned for Marisol to continue. "One and a half stars. I'm sorry, Dick."

She pulled a grimace at the camera. She didn't know how they'd butcher her rating in editing, but she still hoped that most of the truth that carried weight stayed.

•

_**Day Three** _

It felt as if his eyes had just slipped close when his lounge window was pushed open and he heard the barely audible fall of footsteps used to going unnoticed.

Dick forced his eyes into slits, half-open against the sunlight falling through his window. The clock read ten minutes after seven, and the three hours of sleep he had managed hung heavy on his bones. Left him feeling as if he had not slept at all.

Holding in an exhale, he watched Damian look around the room. Ever so slightly, his eyes widened as they lighted on Dick. "I know you're awake," he said, finally, inching closer to the couch Dick had curled up on and spent his morning.

Resting his weight onto his shoulder, Dick grinned at his little brother. Tired, he could feel the exhaustion even in the tilt of his mouth.

The smile wasn't returned and Dick sat up straighter. He raked his eyes over Damian's face— over the harshly pronounced frown pulling at the bottom of his mouth, over the bags under his eyes and the shake of his hands— and all but jumped to stand in front of him.

"What happened?" he asked, gently taking ahold of both of Damian's shoulders.

Was he hurt? _No,_ Dick concluded, giving him a quick once-over. It couldn't be Bruce or anyone else, either— they would have found another way to contact him if it was.

Voice quiet, Dick pressed when he got no further response, "Damian, are you okay?"

Damian nudged him away. "Father and Todd are fighting. Again. I haven't had much sleep since Friday."

Dick breathed out a sigh of relief, a weight lifting off the line of his shoulders.

"Fighting over what?" The list of things Bruce and Jason could find to fight over was not a short one.

Shrugging, Damian's eyes flitted away from Dick. He slipped past him and squeezed into a corner of the vacated couch. Something flashed behind his eyes, and Dick knew he regretted mentioning the arguing and the questions that would follow.

"Over what, Dami?"

"His relationship with Harper." He sighed, and shoulders dropped as he gave in. "Father keeps saying it's bad for morale for him to be dating his brother's ex-boyfriend—"

"Bruce knows about that!?"

"Father is the greatest detective, he knows everything."

Dick sat down next to Damian. It felt familiar, the two of them together, talking. He had always wanted younger siblings; then there was Jason, then Tim, and after an endless stream of children for Dick to wholeheartedly love and worry about.

And, if lately, he worried about Damian a little bit more, that was also between him and God. And probably Bruce.

He bumped his shoulder into Damian's, not even hard enough to jostle. "Yeah, I forgot about that." Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "How's Jason taking it, how are you and Cass? You know, Roy and I weren't even together for that long. We weren't even serious or anything."

"Jason told Bruce to fuck off because he can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. He also said that Bruce cared more about _your_ comfort than Jason's happiness." Damian cracked his knuckles and glared at the muted TV screen. "Cass and I... We're used to them. And it isn't as bad as it used to be, but it gets loud, and Alfred won't allow Jason to leave while he's still injured."

"He's injured?"

A small nod. "Thrown off a building during his last mission and broke his leg. That's... That's how we know about him and Harper, Father caught them kissing during one of his visits."

"Oh," Dick breathed. He played with a loose thread at his knee. Roy and Jason, together. Even though he had had some idea about it, the confirmation still threw him for a loop; he was at a loss, and he knew he shouldn't be. He was going on a date tonight, he was going to fall in love, the least he could do was be happy for his brother. "I'm... I'm happy for them," he said, finally, and he decided that he meant it.

"I didn't want you finding out from anybody else," Damian whispered.

 _I didn't want you finding out by yourself,_ Dick understood.

"Thank you, bud," he said.

The smile Damian offered him was wide, if tired, and Dick couldn't help but smile back.

Standing, he patted the couch. "Get some sleep, that's an order not a request."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just." He waved his phone, not really sure why he had picked it up in the first place. "Gonna call Wally. I might need him to calm my nerves for tonight's episode."

Damian mumbled an, "Okay," and, crooking his arm under a pillow that Dick and Wally had tried embroidering together, closed his eyes.

It was so child-like and so sharply withdrawn from the day-to-day of their lives that, for just a moment, it stilled him where he stood.

Damian was always so peaceful when he slept, it warmed Dick's heart, even as it panged with fear of every possible thing that might disrupt that peace.

He allowed himself another smile, and then he sneaked off to his bedroom. Wally, always Wally, on his mind.

But the call went straight through voicemail, and after he's abrupt exit yesterday, Dick was more than a little concerned. He hugged his knees to his chest and bit his lip before trying again. Nothing. "Hey," he said into the phone, "It's, uh, it's me, obviously. I don't know, just, call me when you get this. Okay. Bye. Wait." He exhaled, long and loud. "Wally, I guess, I'm just in a weird place right now, and I've been in a weird place for a few months, but you're always there for me and you know I'm always going to be there for you. Walls... I love you, you know that, right? You're my friend and I love you. I thought you should know that. Well, not _know_ that, because you _have_ to already know that, but be reminded of it— Oh, God, I'm rambling. Please delete this message as soon as you can. Call me."

He dropped his head into his knees. Held back a scream.

*

Waking only to eat an early dinner, Damian had claimed Dick's bed as his own and gone back to sleep before Dick could leave for his date.

He placed a kiss to his forehead and hopped away from the arm, determined and threatening to punch him in his stomach.

"Wish me luck!" Dick called, halfway out the door.

"I hope you choke," face buried in a pillow, Damian growled back.

 _Last date of the week,_ Dick thought, absently. He answered Patrice's questions and smiled into the camera, everything that was expected of him and more.

But his mind, ultimate betrayer that it was, raced to thoughts of Jason and Roy, to Wally, who still had not returned his calls or texts, to the fact that tomorrow he could very well be on a date with his next boyfriend or girlfriend.

He sighed. At least, if the menu was anything to go by, tonight would be filled with laughter; enough to melt away the pressure building on his frame.

"You ready, Richard?" Patrice hopped out the car and looked up at him, waiting for him to follow suit.

"Of course." He beamed, and hoped it looked believable enough.

Easily, his smile was returned. "Last night, so make it good for us, okay."

Dick walked up a short flight of stairs, aware of the cameras at his back, aware of the person waiting on the other side of the door.

He let out a deep breath and tried to focus his mind in the way that Bruce had first taught him, in the way that he had spent years training. It wasn't fair to his date if the only person on his mind was—

The door opened a split second after his knock landed. Red hair falling in gentle curls framed a set of bright eyes, almost comically wide, and greeted Dick. " _Wally_?" Dick exclaimed, taking a step back before he could help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ever play Love Island: The Game? Anyway, these dates were taken straight off of season two (which is the BEST season, go and play!). 
> 
> Comments are not expected but are really quite appreciated. And if you have any other silly situations you'd like to see these boys in hmu :)


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